Vampiric Work Yet Untitled
by Othello934
Summary: Enter the world, not as a virtuous soldier against evil, but as a black soul to face an even blacker.
1. Prologue

It was a beautiful sunset - the crimson disc that was the sun was already halfway down, and the only a semicircle was left, standing on the horizon. All around it, the sky seemed to be stained with the reddish color, and the small cumulus clouds almost seemed solid in the pale red light. All around was nothing but trees, bordered on two sides by high mountains. A large path could be seen winding off into the direction of the sun, and on it were no travellers this time of day. Everyone knew better than to wander out in the wilderness after dark. There were, after all, wild animals, brigands, not to mention the forest was so thick one could get lost there in daylight, never mind in darkness. The snow-peaked mountain everyone knew stood out as the only mountain tall enough to have white on it's spire, and it had been famous among the local villages as a place where only the most seasoned men went, and sometimes never came back.  
  
Just to the east of the pass between the mountains stood a village. Small, by anyone's standards. It was a cold evening, and smoke could be seen exiting gray chimneys of mortared stone out of lazy-looking houses. A handful of people walked in the only street which was lined on both sides with houses. Most were in pairs or small groups, talking happily and laughing. The day before was a day they knew of as The Giving - a day when all celebrated the year they had, thanking the Earth for giving them a good harvest, and such other ceremonies. The blacksmith's forge was still ringing with the rythm of the smith's hammer striking anvil. The only other activity in the entire village was a youth bringing in firewood from a rack in the back of the house.  
  
A party of four rode down the path, and entered the town. They looked peculiar in their finely trimmed black clothes; the one at the lead, a tall, dark-eyed auburn-haired man of about twenty five wearing a fine red coat, stood out more than the rest next to the villagers with their wools in grays, greens or browns. Riding just behind the red-coated man rode a woman, her blue eyes cold as ice and her long brown hair flowing in the wind behind her. The other two were simply black-clad with finely crafted sword hilts sticking out of their long flowing cloaks. There was no mistaking who was in charge - the red-coated man and the woman. The way their heads leveled, their facial expressions, their fine clothes - all created an impression of royalty, or at least nobility. The gazes of the local folk was drawn to them, yet no one seemed to stare. That wouldn't be proper, especially if they were royalty. Yet what would royalty be doing in a sleepy little village such as this? The question seemed to be on every face.  
  
The party of four stopped in front of the inn, none so much as noticing the villager's intent looks. The red-coated man and the woman dismounted and walked into the inn, while the other two stood outside, apparently to take care of the horses, but it was obvious they were there to stop anyone from touching the horses. They stood there, staring at nothing with their hands on their sword hilts until the woman came out and said something in low tones. The two swordsmen nodded, and took the horses into the stable behind the inn. Their long strides seemed amplified by their height, as they stood at least a head above any villager. This was a strange party indeed. Not many people ever passed through the village, and those that did nicknamed it '1000 Miles from Anywhere', and rightly so, as the nearest significant city was far, far away. The latest passer-by was a rich traveller who wished to see every corner of the Earth. Though he only stayed for one night, he was the talk of the village for months. And now - out of who knows where - arrives four of the strangest travellers anyone in the village had ever seen - a man and a woman, nobility by their posture, and two men, apparently bodyguards or armsmen.  
  
A young boy, only twelve or so years of age suddenly burst into sight from the woods bordering the village on the side opposite to the way the strangers rode in. He looked haggard - as if he was running for a long time, and didn't stop as people in the street asked him what was the matter. He truly was a strange sight - no boy of that age was allowed to wander the woods at this hour, not to mention that on his face, somehow seperate from the weariness, was a look of distinct and utter fear. He made his way into the inn and the door slammed behind him. Once inside, he ran to a man sitting with his friends enjoying a cup of wine. He was a well known sight in the village - everyone remembered the man who killed the two brigands who tried to rob the village coffers - one doesn't forget a thing like that. Everyone remembered as the two bloodied bodies with arrows in their backs were carried off into the woods to be dumped. And the look in their killer's eyes as he watched them carried away; a sort of detached coolness. The incident earned him the honor of being the village police. Everyone always came to him with their disputes, he even broke up fights of the neighborhood boys. His face was now worn with age, and hair starting to show the grizzles of gray in slight streaks. "Ah, that Kalin, forty five," people usually said, "and still going strong."  
  
The boy burst into uncontrollable sobs on the spot, and the poor lad's eyes were already glazed with tears. His face was still contorted in fear, but it now consumed the whole face, no longer sharing with wariness. The men all looked at him, and sympathy found their way into their rough, weather-worn farmer's faces. "Any boy who cries usually has serious reason to," the people always said. Kalin patted the boy on the shoulder. The boy nearly flinched from fear - he seemed to be scared of everything around him. "Yes, it must have been something devestating that brought him here like this," Kalin thought.  
  
"What's wrong, lad?" A fat little man sitting with Kalin asked. Instead of replying, the boy shook. "Probably saw a bear," the fat little man added.  
  
"Quiet, Dalan. Can't you see he's scared half to death?" Kalin said. The fat little man shut up immediately. Turning to the boy, Kalin added, "tell us what happened, lad. Whatever it was can't get you here. You're safe."  
  
The boy looked around suspiciously, and finally spoke. "They took my father!" It was a loud and sharp yelp, cutting everyone's attention from their own matters to the boy like a knife - everyone in the room, including serving maids, the four strangers, even the Innkeeper. A sob followed, and a tear trickled on the boy's cheek.  
  
"Who?" Asked Kalin. "Who took your father?"  
  
"The black-coated men. Fifty of them if there was one. Then they - " he cut off with another sob, and he brought up his hand to wipe the tear away.  
  
"They what?" A new voice, sharp and clear, asked from a table not far away. It was the red-coated young stranger. All eyes in the room jumped to him. He seemed unaffected by this, and simply stared at the boy.  
  
Kalin, not even bothering to hide his disgusted face, turned back to the boy. He hated being interrupted. "What did these black-coated men do?" The boy didn't answer. He just sobbed continuously. Kalin asked again, more gently this time. "What did they do, lad? Tell us. Nothing can hurt you here, you're safe." He patted the boy on the head.  
  
"They...they...cut his head off!" The words came out like a flash of lightning. Kalin half expected the people in the room to mutter among themselves at this, but they all remained silent and stared at the boy. "The big man in the black coat took out a sword out, and - "  
  
Suddenly, the man in the red coat rose from his chair, and walked over to Kalin's table. He said in a strangely unemotional voice, "My good sir, don't you think it would be best if the boy told what happened in private? I have a room upstairs you can use." He squatted next to the boy and asked, "What's your name, lad?"  
  
The boy's croaking reply came after several studders. "Arden, sir. My father's name was Kordaw."  
  
The red-coated man turned to Kalin. "And yours, sir?" Kalin stared long and hard before replying. "Kalin, sir. And yours, if I may ask?"  
  
The red-coated man turned to the boy again, and said, "Christan. My name is Christan. This, " he motioned to the woman sitting with him, "is Jalon. We are very interested in your story, and would like to hear it. That is, if you have no objections, Arden?" The boy simply stared.  
  
"In that case, I think we should take your offer and go up to your rooms," Kalin said suddenly. With a nod, Christan offered his hand to Arden, who took it and walked alongside Christan, followed by the woman, Jalon, and Kalin. They didn't get five steps up the staircase before murmurs began in the common room, heard loudly at the stairwell. The small procession worked it's way to the top, and entered a large, oak-panelled door into a spacious room with a double bed, a writing desk, a fireplace, and several chairs in various places around the room. Christan motioned them all to sit, and offered a three-legged stool to Arden.  
  
Christan began quickly, just as they were all seated. "Now, Arden, you must tell me the whole story from the very beginning. Don't spare any details as they may be of paramount importance. Jalon here will order you a hot bowl of broth and some hot, crusty bread." Jalon got up smoothly, and walked to the door without a word. Christan turned to Kalin and said, "Master Kalin, while we wait for Jalon to return, I suggest you tell me about yourself, and why the boy - I mean Arden - ran to you of all people."  
  
Kalin suddenly felt angry. Here was this pompous lordling or whatever he was, interrogating them all. But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to disobey Christan. "A long time ago, I took care of a brigand problem we had. Since then, the whole town thinks of me as a problem solver and a man of justice. This boy's father was a friend of mine, and I have known the lad since he was this high." Kalin made a gesture showing how high Arden was at the time, somehwere around Kalin's knee. The door slid open, and Jalon stepped in, graceful as a swan and sitting down in her chair.  
  
"The broth will be here in a few minutes, Arden. In the meantime, if you feel like telling us what happened, we would be very interested to hear it." Since Kalin first saw her until now, her expression never changed, and neither did her voice. She was a beautiful woman - her peircing blue eyes and long dark hair was enough to enchant a man, yet her perfectly balanced features made her stand out. Her eyes never left Arden since she sat down, but somehow, there was a sense of her seeing everything, knowing everything, hearing everything that went on in the room. Kalin took the opportunity to examine Christan as well. A tall, darkly handsome man, appearing to be at the prime of his life. Auburn hair was carefully combed and cared for - even though he just spent a long time travelling on the road. They both wore rich clothes, of a fine cut and fabric. Both were somewhat dark, yet they looked fitting in them.  
  
The boy began his story, slightly stammering every once in a while. "Father and I went on a stroll this afternoon. We went far, farther than we usually went, and as we walked down the road, we suddenly heard horses. We didn't give it much thought at first, but then, they started getting louder and still we saw none on the road. We heard one behind us for sure, but when we turned, there were none. When we turned around to face forward again, we saw a dozen men in black cloaks riding up to us on black horses. They wore...thick plates of armor on their chests that were all the same, and one had a flag in his hand - with a long pole that stuck high above him." Arden took another breath, and sobbed.  
  
Christan, who still showed no expression, now spoke. "Were there any drawings on the flag? Any emblems? Insignias? What were the colors of it?"  
  
Arden frowned, and surpressed another sob. He finally answered. "There was an upside down triangle, and inside were these two red triangles, and they looked like eyes...the flag was black, and the big triangle gold. The little ones were red." Christan exchanged looks, still unchanged. "Blast it, they have to show emotion sooner or later!" The thought came like a clash of thunder in Kalin's head.  
  
"Please continue, Arden. You've done very well so far, considering the circumstances," said Jalon, still not showing so much as a blink of emotion.  
  
Arden looked at her, and continued his story. "They took out their swords. They told us to follow them or die. I was scared, but I couldn't even run. So we went where they told us to, and they led us to a camp with tents and fires. There were other black cloaked men there, and one woman, standing there talking with a man. They were both dressed in all black, and on their cloaks was the same triangle that I saw on the flag. Except hers had a small red dot just above the red eye triangles, and his had a sword drawn behind it. They turned toward us, and said something to the guards. I couldn't understand it. It sounded like 'cora duan liaes'. The black cloaked men that led us there pushed us toward this clearing in the woods. There were only two of them now, the rest broke away. My father punched them, and yelled for me to run home, to Kalin. I stood there, and couldn't move. He yelled for me to run again, and I did this time. As fast as I could, I did. I looked back and one of the black cloaked men swung his sword and father's head came off. I couldn't bare to watch any more, and I just ran as fast as I could all the way here."  
  
Christan and Jalon looked at each other again, then at Arden. Sympathy was in their eyes now, and Jalon said, "Arden, you're a strong boy to have done what you did. Another would've failed to bring this information to us. To know that this is happening, and here of all places, that was worth it alone. You must be tired. As soon as you've had your broth, we'll have you taken to your house, and no one will hurt you or your family again."  
  
Arden's face clouded over again. Kalin coughed loudly, then motioned for Christan to join him outside. Surprisingly Christan rose, and walked out behind Kalin. When the door was closed, Kalin suddenly burst out, "The boy lost his mother in childbirth. His father is dead now. He has no brothers or sisters, and no other relatives. He's alone now, and he has no home to go home to anymore. Without his father, his home is no longer a home. I understand you didn't know this, but what you just did was very cruel."  
  
Christan didn't show any surprise at those words, nor did he show any emotion. He simply said, "Thank you for informing me. Would you please arrange with the Innkeeper for a room for Arden? He can stay here with us." With that he turned on his heel and walked back into the room, shutting the door behind him. A serving girl walked by him, still standing there and stunned, as she knocked on the door and brought in the tray of broth and hot crusty bread. A strong scent of herbal tea was also present. 


	2. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE  
  
A magnificent building - fluted columns topped by the Hellenistic capitals stood on a stylobate of brilliant white stone. A pedament was not the true roof - merely a decoration along the front wall, giving way to a large white-stone dome. No one could possibly get bored looking at this building, there was just so much to take in. More columns, ceratids and statues were all over the wall, and stood out like pinnacles of virtue. Just in front of the steps leading up to the building was a courtyard, paved almost exclusively, and in the center stood a fountain, shaped as maidens pouring water from large vases. Green ground would've been seen all over, with trees in straight lines enboldening the effect of the walkways. Yet today was a snowy morning, and a cold winter sun stood not far from it's noon peak like a gleaming eye of some cycloptic entity looking down on the world. Yet clouds creeped up on this eye, thick, dark clouds, no doubt holding in them enough snow to bury the entire city. Still visible was a magnificent blue sky. It's brilliance stunned more than the light of the sun reflecting off the snow lying on the ground like a thick coat.  
  
Konar seldom saw a sight as magnificent as this. He was a city man all his life, and saw the large paragon-like building that captivated his interest this morning as he attended to his duties. He was an important man, of sorts. He was a councelor, a defender of the accused. A top-notch one at that - young, ambitious and already fabulously rich by his cases. Any other man in his position would take a carriage to work, but not Konar. He enjoyed walking every morning, seeing the life on the streets, viewing the magnificent building he called work, watching the activity of the rich and poor alike going about their routine. Yet today, he felt a shadow on his soul. He couldn't explain it, yet it was there. Everything was as he had wanted it to be today, and presumably for many days to come. No tragedies or dilemmas plagued him, and he was on top of the world, yet there was this sneaky tingly feeling that something was wrong. It had appeared a week ago without warning when he woke one morning. Just thinking about it put a frown on his face, and people on the street shied away. Everyone knew better than to try to 'accidentally bump into' a physically powerful-looking rich man with a frown. Ironically, he had fought for legal equality of the poor and rich all his proffessional life, yet there it was, the bare truth that he was seen as a man who one didn't bother due to the cut of his suit.  
  
The deep feeling of gloom was really getting to him today, and seeing an inn along his path, he decided to stop in and get something to drink. A plump innkeeper in her middle years with graying hair and a permanent oily smile motioned to a table just a moment before she barked orders at serving maids to get him his order. It soon arrived, a hot cup of mulled wine, it's spices creating an aroma he could smell even before it was delivered. That surprised him. He had never been noticably good at smelling things. He took the wine and paid the girl. As he sat there, pondering his dark thoughts, he couldn't help but think of the city. The great city of Aravel, capital to the country Tormandy. A champion since the beginning of time, or so men said. Armies of Tormandy were said to be invincible, and the most invincible in truth was the Elite Guard, the large regiment recruited out of Aravel that was the right hand of the Daesar, the rank of the Emperor of Tormandy and his wife, the Daesam. There hasn't been a real war for fifty years, and only the oldest soldiers remembered that. Sure, there were minor scirmishes, rebellions, and the endless allies in need of aid because of their own scirmishes and rebellions. Yet how that tied in with his bleakness was beyond him.  
  
A woman sat down across from Konar, and looked at him quietly. Tall and dark, she had piercing blue eyes and dazzling brown hair, and her face seemed to be crafted from perfection. As beautiful as she was, Konar didn't notice her sitting there. He didn't even realize she was there until she gently tapped him on the shoulder. He awoke from his daydream with a jolt. It was as if he was attached to a large elastic band while wandering away from it, yet now he was snapped back by the force of the kinetic energy of the band. It was then that he looked at her, and saw how magnificent she was. He felt his heartrate encrease somehow, and even felt his own pupils dialate. Or maybe it was just his imagination...  
  
She broke the silence by speaking. "Hello, Konar. My name is Jalon. We've never met, of course, but I come from our mutual aquaintance, Christan." The look in her eyes was no longer etched ice. She seemed to be testing him. Christan...sounded somehow familiar, yet he could not remember how. Suddenly, he burst out laughing. He couldn't help it. The cituation he was in just seemed - funny. Jalon didn't even blink. She merely continued. "He's very anxious to meet you again."  
  
Konar didn't know what to say. It was just all so disturbingly awkward. "I have to get to work soon. This Christan of yours will have to wait." Konar nearly flinched after muttering those words. Jalon didn't show any outside sign she heard, but she was still looking down intently at him. It was a long time before she spoke again, seeming like years.  
  
"Christan is not one to be kept waiting. Besides, he's very excited to have a chance to catch up on 'old times', and it wont take a moment." A sudden admiration built up in Konar for this Jalon woman. She really didn't leave him much of a choice. Konar gulped down what remained of his wine and got up.  
  
"Lead the way. But mind you, I do have to be at work soon."  
  
"This way," she said in that queenly voice of hers as she gestured to a flight of stairs not far from where they sat, apparently leading up to the rooms rented in this inn. Just before reaching the stairs, she stopped, turned around and gestured up the stairs. Once again, she left him no choice but to lead on. With a slight hesitation he moved up the steps, cautiously. This Christan fellow could be waiting for him to take his money for all Konar knew. The name was familiar, and a vague image of a face oozed into his brain, but he just couldn't lay a finger on it. The stairs were well lit, and he was at least thankful for that. "Third door on the left," came a mumble from behind him. He could feel Jolan's gaze on his back, just between his shoulderblades. He couldn't explain why but he did. Without further delay, he stepped up to the third door from the left and knocked.  
  
"Come in," came a reply.  
  
Konar twisted the doorknob and walked in, with Jalon at his heels. A tall man of about twenty five stood by the only window, turned towards the window and not even awarding either Konar or Jalon with a look. Suddenly, he turned around. It was like looking at the face of a long-lost relative - it was there, engraved in Konar's mind, yet he still couldn't pinpoint where. Aside from that, this man was a total stranger. Jalon sat down in one of the comfortable chairs in the room, and Christan took the one next to her, motioning for Konar to take a rickety old char with no cushion or arms.  
  
"Konar, if I'm not mistaken? My name is Christan, and I believe you and my associate Jalon have already met, no?" His tone was a warm and friendly one, but his dark eyes seemed to add a lethal angle to his words, if that was possible with something so innocent.  
  
"Yes, I'm Konar. If you don't mind my asking, where is it I know you from? You seem vaguely familar but I just can't remember from where. Jalon said we were old friends, apparently from childhood." Christan's face took on a momentary look of surprise. He turned to Jalon and gave her a wink. She simply smiled.  
  
"Old friends? Unless you're 400 years old, no, we aren't friends from childhood." Konar had to physically clamp his mouth shut before it dropped open. "I'm actually 421 years old, and Jalon is - well, it's not proper to discuss a lady's age in public, at least not in her presence." He gave Jalon an insolent smile. She merely rolled her eyes. Christan laughed slightly.  
  
"But how can you be 421 years old? You're a man, and the oldest man I knew is 78. He died two years ago." Konar felt like he was being duped.  
  
"Very simple. Jalon and I are - more than we once were. Ever since the change we've never been sick a day, and our physical strength is beyond the strongest man in the city. Aside from a small need to - feed - it's like living as a god." Christan was obviously proud of whatever he was. Jalon had a look of content pride about her as well. Christan continued. "If you don't believe me, you will in time. It's only natural to be disbelieving, but it is true."  
  
Jalon spoke up in her level tone, "And you could also live for 421 years, double that - or even forever. You could be like us."  
  
Konar was intrigued. He wasn't fool enough to believe this wholely, but at least he could imagine what it would be like. And these two certainly were like no one he had ever met. "I have learned a long time ago that for everything there is a price, even if you have to dig to find it first. What do I have to do for this - service?" Let's see how they respond to this, Konar thought.  
  
Christan leaned forward in his chair. "I will not lie to you and tell you that this is easy. Throughout my four hundred years, I've seen many die, friends, family, lovers...yet you still live. And, of course, you must feed." Jalon suddenly seemed to study him harder as soon as the word feed left Christan's mouth.  
  
What could possibly be so hard about feeding, he thought? Suddenly, a thought seemed to slither past. He grabbed it before it could squirm away. "You're vampires aren't you?" The words were hoarse. He couldn't maintain a steady tone, much less put any voice behind it.  
  
Jalon and Christan looked at one another. "Essentially, yes. Yet, that is a very harsh word that the humans who fear us have called it. We prefer to be known as Aja'roth. In the Ancient Script, 'Aja' means 'feeder' and 'roth' means 'souls'. Together they mean 'one who feeds on souls'. As part of your initiation, you will be given the knowlege of the Ancient Script. Along with the knowlege you need to survive," Jalon muttered.  
  
Konar stared from one to the other. All question of wether they were lying or not was gone. He knew they were who they said they were. "You expect me to become one of you? You feed on people's blood! You're monsters people tell their children about to scare them! And you want me to be one of you?"  
  
Christan got up from his chair and walked to the balcony. Konar never noticed it, but it was there. He gestured, and two men in black coats walked in. Walking to the door, they took places on either side of it. Christan walked back to his chair but did not sit down again. "Do you eat meat, Konar? Do you endulge yourself with a delicious ham for dinner?" Without waiting for any response, he went on. " I suppose you never thought of the animals that die for your dinner? Yet you eat it because you don't want to starve. Do you think we feed on the blood of humans for fun? We get as little enjoyment out of it as a farmer would killing a lame horse. Once you see that, you will see the larger picture."  
  
Jalon got up, walked towards Christan, and took up talking. "The reason we speak of this to you is you have the Nor'an, meaning you will become Aja'roth as soon as you drink the blood of a living human. It's a gift, some call it a curse. Not all have it. One must be born with it, and once they are, we the other Aja'roth must find you before you take your first drink, or else you could die. Only we know how you can survive the transformation. There is a week of - discomfort - at the beginning when your body adapts, and after that, you will never be bothered again. You drank human blood recently, and as we speak you're becoming one of us. There's no way to reverse it once the process begins, but we can make it more pleasant for you."  
  
Konar stared hard at the floor. It wasn't the pattern in the rich red carpet that interested him, in fact what did interest him was nowhere near the floor, merely in his head. A question popped into his head and onto his lips before he could stop it. "When did I drink human blood? I remember no such event."  
  
Jalon looked almost sympathetic for an instant. "Only a drop of it could begin the change. Some require more than others. Those that need less to start the process become stronger. Think hard. There was something or we wouldn't be having this conversation." Konar thought. There was nothing. Jalon seemed to read it in his face. "Recently, you began getting a dark feeling in your soul. You don't know what to make of it - a storm of shadows in your head that has no explanation. Soon, you will begin to sweat uncontrollably, and not too late after that you will begin noticing your eyes turning red, and your teeth growing into fangs."  
  
Konar remembered the gloomy feeling that brought him to this inn in the first place. Suddenly, a flash crossed his mind; a memory. Kirianna. His wife to be. The taste of her blood...he had kissed her, but there was a sloght hint of sweetness in her mouth. She probably bit herlip just before... Shakily, he got up, or at least he tried to. There was no strength in his legs. Nothing but weakness.  
  
Christan was looking at him. "So, how did it happen?"  
  
Konar managed a shaky explanation. Jalon and Christan exchanged glances. Christan spoke up. "If you love this lover of yours, leave. We will take you somehwere away from here. It would be best for her, and in the long run for you as well."  
  
Konar was furious, and somehow found the strength to growl. "How dare you? I will stay with Kirianna. I will not leave her for anything. She deserves better. I cannot just walk out on her..." He felt the weakness come back.  
  
Once again, Jalon and Christan exchanged glances. "Those who taste the blood of a person who continues to live get certain - urges. If you indeed do love this woman, you would leave. The bloodlust you will have when you awake as Aja'roth will consume you. And always, the new Aja'roth will come after their first victim, who will be the one who gave them the initial taste. You will kill her. You will not be able to control it, and she will die by your hand. When you're done draining her very life force from her, you will lose the bloodlust and see what you have done. In your case, I doubt you will be able to live with yourself after doing such a thing." Now there was no mistaking, compassion crossed both faces. Christan continued. "Leave her a note saying you must go away for a while. One day, you will be able to return to her, but not yet. Leave, for your own sake if not for hers."  
  
Konar was speechless. Was the whole world going crazy around him? Was everyone growing strange, or was this just some sort of bad nightmare? No...he could no longer try to fool himself. This was no nightmare, at least not in the dream way. It was a nightmare waking. And worst of all - he was in the center of it. "Very well...I shall go. I have no other choice." The words came out like a moan and seemed to stick to his throat.  
  
Jalon nodded, and Christan managed a slight smile. "We shall have to leave now. There is no other choice for us either. Aamon's servants will be here soon." Jalon looked at him cautiously, and Konar gasped.  
  
"S-speaking his name is not s-something decent people do," Konar mumbled. He had heard that from his grandmother when he dared speak Aamon's name at the dinnertable one night. Jalon and Christaf turned to him, and stared.  
  
"No matter how much you try to deny it, Aamon exists, and he walks among men again. Just last year, a horde of Shadan attacked a small village. Even our presence there didn't influence them to leave like it usually has. Shadan fear Aja'roth with their hearts, minds and souls. Tormandy is about to be overrun by a large number of them, possibly even with one of the Damned to drive them. We don't know," Jalon explained. Konar's puzzled expression spoke better than words.  
  
Christaf continued where Jalon left off. "Aamon is only one of the Damned. There are nine of them - the most horrible are Astaroth, Naberius and Bael, but Aamon has wreaked havoc across the world, the only one to, which would be why he's the only one well known to all. We have Aja'roth infiltrators within the Shadan ranks, and they all speak of Aamon, back from the dead.  
  
"It is said the other eight Damned all serve the will of one of them - Bael. He is the true ruler of the Damned, and they do his bidding through the world. Though they are not without their own power - each drives their own personal Legions, and the Legions of the different Damned have been known to fight each other. Balam and Aamon are mortal enemies for example, and so are their Legions. Aside from that, we know as little as you. The only other knowlege that exists on the Damned is in the Spire libraries. We will have time to stop by it along our way if need be."  
  
Konar got to his heet. All thought of not going was gone - the very thought of Aamon on the loose put all those thoughts out of his head. "Good," Christan thought. "He's ours...wholely. His fear will drive him, and before he knows it, he will cast his lot with us." 


End file.
